


in the halls of angband.

by prismatic_starstuff



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: A little bit of fluff at the end, A spy breaks into Angband, Anal Sex, Ass-Job, Blood, Dirty Talk, Lots of kissing, M/M, Mairon tortures said spy, Making out amongst said blood, Melkor very much enjoys the show, Minor Character Death, No Lube, Scratching, Sleepy Cuddles, Torture, cum licking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:27:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23435419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prismatic_starstuff/pseuds/prismatic_starstuff
Summary: Mairon serves faithfully and brutally; and Melkor is all too pleased with his work.
Relationships: Morgoth Bauglir | Melkor/Sauron | Mairon
Comments: 9
Kudos: 65





	1. the admiration.

Choked screams echoed, bouncing off the cold stone walls of the dungeon; but the haunting sound only seemed to encourage Mairon further, the lieutenant’s eyes glowing as hot as the magical fire that heated his palm to relentlessly scald the chained Man’s neck. Surely the Man would’ve collapsed long ago, but the chains binding him to the wall kept him painfully upright; and the slender, deceptively delicate hand of the lieutenant which slid up to curl around his chin kept him gazing directly into the face of his captor.

“ _Look_ at you,” Mairon sneered, slitted pupils flickering as his eyes took in the prisoner’s state; battered, bloody, burnt and bound. “You foolish creature. Was this the glory you dreamed of when you thought to infiltrate our fortress? Was this the outcome you desired?” He roughly let go of the Man’s face and took a step back to take in the entire state of him, allowing the other’s head to gracelessly flop downwards.

“I-I…” the spy began, voice hoarse from screaming, breath ragged and catching in his partially melted throat. His face was almost unrecognisable, bloodstained and swollen, and his body was decorated in precise cuts from Mairon’s blade; in all the right places to be non-lethal yet painful in the extreme. “I’m… sorry…”

“You are not.” Mairon’s voice had lost its cruel mirth, replaced by a coldness that made many of the orcs gathered around to watch the proceedings visibly shudder. “You thought, in your _arrogance–”_

The word was punctuated by another harsh stab in the side, and another howl from the human–

“–to infiltrate the house of our lord, the seat of his power; and in your _ignorance–”_

The blade was withdrawn and firmly lodged in the other side, just narrowly avoiding the liver, and even some of the assembled orcs were wincing at the sheer volume of the prisoner’s cries–

“–you had believed you would emerge unscathed. Such is the depth of your _idiocy!”_

It was at times like these, Melkor mused with a smirk as he rested his frame against the entryway, that Mairon was truly at his most beautiful. Even with his divine form spattered in the blood and gore of the unworthy, his lieutenant held an eternal grace and beauty that he could never tire of admiring; there was a wildness in the Maia’s cat-like eyes as he loomed over his broken prisoner like a wolf with its prey, a fanatical madness in his expression that came over him solely when fighting for the glory of his Dark Lord…

And the Dark Lord was enraptured by that madness. Utterly and completely so.

But he didn’t want to interrupt his faithful one’s actions; not yet. Not while he was so deliciously in control, not while he was clearly taking so much enjoyment in exerting his dominance. Strong arms folded across a broad chest as Melkor simply settled in to enjoy the show; what little of it remained, at least. It was unlikely that any mere Man could endure Mairon’s brand of punishment for long.

The assembled orcs scrambled to step aside as Mairon turned his back on the chained prisoner, high-heeled boots clicking on the ground as he slowly stepped away, every move elegant and fluid yet filled with a distinct tension. His pointed ears tilted back, a sign of his agitation and anger; yet as always, the lieutenant kept his poise, didn’t allow himself to outwardly display any manner of weakness. “I will give you this one chance,” he spoke, softly but coldly. “One opportunity to prove that you are not _irredeemably_ stupid.” Before the Man could respond with anything past a bloody gurgle, the Maia spun around to face him once more, long red locks whipping at his back.

The room was momentarily silent as it waited on Mairon’s word. The wide-eyed and helpless prisoner barely dared to breathe; the orcs, usually boisterous and loud-mouthed, were rendered mute by awe.

Melkor’s smirk widened, and without his realising, he found his tongue slowly dragging itself over his upper lip.

How lucky he was, to have such a masterful little Maia for a lieutenant.

“You will renounce your fealty to your king,” Mairon stated, stepping closer to the bound Man, resting his blade beneath the other’s chin to raise it and force their eyes to meet. “You will swear allegiance to Morgoth. You will take him as more than your king ever was to you; you will take him as your God.” His eyes shone like fire, slightly widened with fanatical fervour, and his black-painted lips curved into a cruel sneering grin.

The prisoner took a sharp, wet breath, practically drowning on his own blood; what little of it was still in his body and not pouring down it, at least. “Y… Yes,” he barely managed, a quiet and pitiful sound, attempting to nod his head as best he could with that knife at his throat.

“Not enough.” The tip pressed into the Man’s skin, a threat more than anything; and Mairon leaned in closer, his expression having dropped into something cold and unsmiling and utterly fearsome. “Speak, lowly creature. Say it from your heart,” he placed his free hand upon the man’s chest in a not at all tender gesture, fingers clutching and pressing just a bit in a silent warning: he could so easily reach in and tear that heart out, and he would not hesitate to.

“I…” Another wet, gurgling breath, and tears dripped down the Man’s cheeks; whether it was fear or pain from his current situation, or disgust at what he was about to say, no-one knew. Neither did they care. “I swear allegiance to… to Lord Morgoth– I accept him as… as my God…”

“Again.” The Maia’s fire heated his palm to painful extents directly over the spy’s pounding heart, earning a ragged cry from him once more. “Louder.”

“I said I… I accept–”

The Man’s words abruptly gave way to a shout of pain as Mairon smacked him roughly around the face, even a light hit from the Maia causing the Man’s head to whirl violently to one side. “Louder! Let it be known _exactly_ who you worship!”

“I worship Lord Morgoth!” The prisoner was screaming as loud as his broken body would allow, his head having fallen back, the tears continuing to flow from his tightly shut eyes down a face full of agony and anger and shame. “Lord Morgoth is my God! I will serve him! I swear my allegiance to him for all time!”

Mairon smiled contentedly, drawing back and allowing his knife-wielding hand to rest at his side, curls bouncing just a bit as he nodded his head. “Very good,” he spoke, raising his empty hand to give the prisoner an almost jovial pat on the cheek. “Now that you have admitted this… spoken it into reality… let it be known before all of us, that you are no more than a devotee to our lord…” The smile widened just a little, and he gazed into the spy’s eyes. “…you may take that knowledge into death with you, and revel in it forever.”

And in an instant, before there could be any argument, before anyone could speak up in any regard save for a horrified gasp from the Man, that knife had plunged itself into the prisoner’s neck and slit all the way across; leaving nothing but a gushing wound, an unnaturally-angled head, and a lifeless body hanging on the wall like some manner of grotesque war trophy.

Applause and cheers of adulation got up from the crowd of orcs, and again they parted for Mairon as he stepped away from his handiwork, a darkly amused chuckle sounding from his throat as he contentedly stretched his arms above himself. “Ah… I must say, I do feel much better now that _creature_ has been seen to…”

“You and I both, my lieutenant.” Melkor took that moment to make his presence known; and in that instant, all heads turned to face him, and the energy of the room changed immediately. Gone were the cheering and celebrating orcs of just a second before; they immediately gasped, whispered between themselves in hushed tones, ultimately dropped to the floor in awe or terror.

As for Mairon, his attention immediately fixed itself upon his Dark Lord as though he were the only thing in the room, slitted pupils dilating almost imperceptibly; but Melkor noticed, he always noticed. Black-painted lips curved into a warm smile and hands rested themselves one over the other across his chest, and the Maia bowed deeply. “My lord,” he spoke in soft, reverent tones.

Melkor’s eyes didn’t even rest on the gathering of orcs; he simply strode his way past any that were between himself and his most faithful servant, leaning down just a bit to gently grasp Mairon’s chin, lightly coaxing him into standing straight and looking up at him; and naturally, Mairon was perfectly pliant and did so without trouble. No matter how fearsome he was with others, the Vala could always depend on his Maia to be pliant and malleable and willing for him and him alone; a fact which pleased him to no end. “You have been hard at work, I see,” he gave a small smirk, his eyes - as red as the blood that covered his lieutenant - giving the other a look up and down.

“Of course,” Mairon’s smile gave way to one that was clearly pleased with itself, his tones softer in such a close proximity with his master. “Anyone who would dare to stand against you deserves only suffering and death. It was my honour to bleed the life from him for you, my lord.” The Maia had moved just that little bit closer to the Vala, their eyes locked. Yes, those slitted pupils of his were quite noticeably dilated now.

Shifting his hand to tenderly cup Mairon’s cheek, only just managing to suppress the contented hum that wanted to escape him when the Maia so softly leaned his face into the touch, Melkor’s smirk widened. “Of course,” he found himself echoing the words, the rough skin of his thumb gently sweeping across the silken skin of his lieutenant’s face.

Unlike himself, Mairon didn’t deign to suppress his soft little sigh, his eyes fluttering closed. “…All of you are dismissed,” he suddenly spoke in loud and commanding tones to the crowd still at his back, a contrast to the loving and reverent servant. His contentment in his master’s presence was unmistakable, but it did nothing to sweeten his strict leadership over the orcs.

The assembled orcs were quick to scramble to their feet and make for the nearest exit as soon as the word was given; and as soon as they were all gone, as soon as it was just the two of them amidst the gore, Melkor’s arms slid down to wind around Mairon’s waist. He pulled him in to close the damnable distance between them; and adoring and ever-pliant Mairon so eagerly returned the gesture, black lips curving into a grin just before they touched Melkor’s unnaturally grey ones, the Maia’s arms wrapping around his Vala’s neck. So easily their bodies pressed to each other, chests touching and heat exchanging, as though they were made to be in no place more than one another’s arms.

In the absence of others, Melkor allowed himself to forget about the notion of restraint, his tongue not-at-all gently probing at Mairon’s lips in a very clear request; more of a demand than anything. The action earned him another quiet and pleased sigh, and his lieutenant’s mouth opened invitingly; and the Dark Lord wasted no time in taking that invite, tongue sliding into the Maia’s hot, wet mouth. Melkor’s well-built frame pressed Mairon’s slender form to the wall at his back, strong hands grasping Mairon’s elegant ones and pinning them against the wall high above his head, leaving the Vala the space necessary to press his body wholly against the Maia’s.

“Mmn…” Mairon drew back just enough, just enough to speak and no more, his lips leaving his master’s with a satisfying smack. His breath came hot and heavy, and his blazing eyes were half-lidded as they gazed up into Melkor’s own. “My… Shall I assume that you enjoyed watching me at work… Lord Melkor?” The Maia was clearly rather flustered and breathless, his pale cheeks and even the tips of his pointed ears tinted pink; though regardless, he still gave his master that cheeky little smirk of his. Knowing Melkor as intimately as he did, he knew that such formalities weren’t necessary in these private moments… but he also knew how much his lord took pleasure in his submission, and he never failed to play up to that.

The Dark Lord couldn’t help the low, husky, outright dirty chuckle that escaped him in response to his servant’s question, and rather than answering it with words, he chose to answer it with action. Reaching down to grasp one elegant pale hand in one strong grey one, he raised it first to his lips and pressed a firm kiss to Mairon’s knuckles, not even minding the blood still staining his skin; normally he would have never put his mouth so close to such unworthy blood, but in this case, it was worth it. Red eyes gleamed with pride as he took in the utter adoration in his lieutenant’s face, as though he were bewitched by some manner of spell; and he never once broke the gaze as he lowered the hand in his grasp, placing it directly onto the hardening bulge between his thighs.

A visible tremble passed through the Maia, and his teeth bit down on his lower lip, eyes widening eagerly as his palm cupped the heat between Melkor’s legs with such tenderness. “I will… take this as a ‘yes,’ then…” he murmured, his gaze firmly fixed southward. Pressing his open palm against his master’s crotch, Mairon gazed lustfully up into his face as he took the Vala’s balls in a hand much stronger than it looked, slowly squeezing and rolling them through the Dark Lord’s leathers.

Something between a delighted groan and an aggravated growl left Melkor at that moment; sheer delight at the warmth and the tightness of his servant’s firm grasp, just a bit of aggravation as he considered the fact there was all that armour in the way of his Mairon’s beautiful body. Winding a hand into those bright and fiery curls, he drew his servant in for another kiss; harder, more insistent, his tongue sliding past Mairon’s soft lips without any manner of asking and immediately twining with the Maia’s own. All he wanted in that moment was to tear the armour from his lieutenant’s body; to bare that pale skin, to caress and claw at that lithe but well-toned chest, to grope and spread that round rear end and _really_ show his Mairon how much he enjoyed his work…

When Melkor drew back, Mairon gasped aloud as though he were bereft at the loss, and he fell back lightly against the wall as though his legs were growing weak. Panting softly to regain the breath that had been stolen from him, he licked at his lips, fixing his master with an almost pleading gaze from those brightly burning eyes.

It was a plea that Melkor was all too happy to entertain, a hand grasping one of Mairon’s own and squeezing, a smirk crossing his features once more as he leaned down to press a kiss to his Maia’s forehead. “Come, Mairon. Such an impressive display deserves an equally impressive reward…” he practically purred, turning to lead his poor trembling lieutenant out of the dungeon. It would hardly do, to take his partner in amongst all the filth and blood…

“Oh, Lord Melkor, you’re much too good to me…” Mairon laughed lightly, resting his head against Melkor’s shoulder, lightly burying his face in the Dark Lord’s long black locks as they went.

And just like that the two were gone, the only reminder of their presence a bled-out body dangling from the wall; a disgusting display that ultimately served to fuel their beautiful devotion and burning desires.


	2. the coupling.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Dark Lord rewards his beloved lieutenant for his good works.

A few moments prior, Melkor thought that his Mairon was at his most beautiful while in charge: while dominating the weak and the worthless, while bringing death and suffering, while exerting his will without mercy.

But as he trailed his powerful grey hands up firm pale thighs and felt them quiver beneath his touch, as he leaned up to press himself against a round and perfect rear end and heard a delightful soft gasp in response, he realised without a doubt that he had been wrong: _this_ was Mairon at his most beautiful, when he was bare and willing and practically drunk on desire for him and him alone. 

A low growl of a moan escaped the Dark Lord as his servant responded in kind, pressing down just enough for his tight entrance to touch the sensitive head of Melkor’s straining cock; and Mairon, flushed and hard and glistening between his supple thighs, leaned down to claim his lord’s parted lips in a firm and hot kiss.

One large, black-clawed hand was all it took to grasp all the back of Maia’s head; while Mairon was by no means small, much taller than a regular Man would be, Melkor was larger in height and musculature still. The Vala’s fingers tangled themselves in bright curls, gripping and pulling roughly enough to make his servant keen shamelessly into his mouth; and their long, slick tongues twined together as perfectly as their bodies did. A sharp gasp left the Dark Lord’s throat as his lieutenant, masterful with his body as he was, so expertly squeezed his thick shaft between plush and warm cheeks; the Maia rolled his hips, agonisingly slowly, rubbing his master’s length up and down between the tightness of his glutes.

A smirk spread across Melkor’s lips as he slid his free hand down Mairon’s back, raking his sharp claws down the pale skin and revelling in the delicious groan he earned from his servant. So eager to serve his Dark Lord, and so appreciative of everything he received in return, be it pleasure or pain… It never failed to please him, how his mighty lieutenant - Gorthaur the Cruel, the Lord of Werewolves, the dreaded and feared Sauron himself - was so eternally pleased to submit to him.

Gripping onto those red locks, Melkor pulled Mairon’s head away from his, his smirk widening a bit more at the confused blinks he received. “My servant,” the Dark Lord spoke, his voice a smooth and seductive purr even as he panted lightly to catch his stolen breath, his red eyes shining with bared lust.

“My lord,” Mairon sighed adoringly in return, leaning forward to rest his forehead against his Vala’s, fingers lazily curling in silken black locks. Not for a moment did he stop his ministrations though, continuing to lavish his master’s length in attention.

Through deep and hot breaths, Melkor issued a familiar question, grinning widely at his partner: “Who do you belong to, my dearest little Maia?”

It was a question that didn’t need answered, as Mairon had done so many times before; but it was an answer that Melkor never tired of hearing, and that Mairon never tired of faithfully giving. “I belong solely to the only one worth belonging to, my lord…” He punctuated his alluring words with a firm squeeze of his cheeks around Melkor’s shaft, earning him a moan and a pleasant shiver. “I am the property of the Dark Lord Morgoth.” Black-painted lips curved into a smile, and he placed a slender hand on his Vala’s sharp jaw. “I am yours, my beloved.”

A swell of pride and desire and something that the Men of the world might call love warmed Melkor’s chest, and he pushed forward, letting his lieutenant fall back against the royal blue of his bedclothes. “Very good,” he praised, letting his hands caress their way from Mairon’s thighs down his long legs, raising them up and wrapping them around his own powerful hips. “And tell me, my pretty little Maia…” he went on, lowering his head to whisper in one pointed ear, taking note of how Mairon’s breath hitched in his throat at the pet name. “Who did you kill that worthless invader for…?”

“You, my dear,” Mairon breathed out, a pleasurable tremble running through him and a dark chuckle sounding from his throat as he tightened his thighs around Melkor’s hips, and slid his arms around his broad shoulders. “You should know by now: never will I allow anyone to mar what is yours… It will always be my delight to drain the life from any enemy, so long as it will please you…”

“Such a sadist.” Melkor chuckled, a low and resounding sound against Mairon’s ear; and he pressed his hips forward, letting the glistening tip of his cock tease his lieutenant’s hole, feeling it quiver in anticipation. “ _My_ little sadist…”

A quiet gasp escaped Mairon, and his cheeks flushed further. “Y-Yes, all yours,” he agreed breathlessly, leaning up to press a quick kiss to Melkor’s lips, his fingers squeezing and playing with long dark hair. “My lord, if I may… how much longer are you intending on keeping your ‘little sadist’ waiting…?” His fiery orange eyes gazed longingly into Melkor’s bloody red ones, and there was a distinct pleading note to his timbres; it wasn’t a question borne of displeasure, rather of utter need for relief.

Raising an eyebrow and taking on a sterner expression, Melkor drew back just a bit, every muscle in his well-built form rippling. “Mairon, dear… Is that _impatience_ I hear?” he asked, his voice clearly holding an amusement which he tried to keep from bleeding into his expression.

Mairon’s eyes widened a little; it would’ve been practically imperceptible to anyone else, but after so many aeons together, Melkor could read his servant as easily as a book. “N-No, beloved, of course not. Never would I question your– a-aaahh!”

During his servant’s attempts to explain himself, the Vala had taken the opportunity to give him precisely what he knew he needed: with a strength that only he possessed, in one sharp thrust, he’d shoved his erection deep into his Maia’s entrance. Bracing his hands on either side of Mairon’s head, he grinned down at his servant, whose back had arched as he dug fingers hard into the Vala’s back.

“Oh, you _bastard…!”_ Mairon laughed breathlessly, his eyes shining with absolute delight; Melkor knew that his Maia would be grateful for a bit of the rough stuff, and clearly he wasn’t wrong. Eagerly, the Maia grabbed a fistful of his Dark Lord’s hair, pulling him down for a hard kiss, his quickened breath so warm against his lips.

Melkor let the comment go without reply; normally he would’ve had some manner of quick-witted response, but he was much too taken by the incredible heat warming his throbbing cock, much too distracted by the delicious tightness finally offering relief to his aching need. Gripping the bedclothes hard in his strong hands, the Dark Lord drew his hips back, thrills running down his spine at the feel of his partner’s unprepared walls rubbing the sensitive skin of his shaft with every move; and again he pushed in, slowly but powerfully.

Such deep, satisfied groans left the Dark Lord’s throat, making beautiful music alongside his partner’s breathy and silky moans as their bodies made love in a way the Men could only envy; as Melkor took his Mairon with a strength no Man could possess, and Mairon welcomed his Melkor with a heat no Man could withstand.

Mairon’s long legs tightened around Melkor’s waist, and Melkor pressed forward, tipping Mairon further onto his back and angling his own hips so that he could drive in deeper, _deeper_ into that moreish heat, his heart pounding as sweat slicked his muscular form.

Tongues clashed and licked and twined, lips pressing to each other again and again, crushingly hard as the bed shook violently beneath the growing speed and force of the love of the Ainur. The Maia’s long nails dug deep into the Vala’s grey skin, hard enough to draw blood which only pleasured and spurred the Dark Lord on further, angling deeper still into his lieutenant and ensuring he always struck in the place he knew Mairon needed it the most.

With a trail of saliva connecting the two still, Mairon pulled his head back, allowing it to fall back against the bed; all flushed and glistening with sweat and panting desperately, he looked truly debauched, though in truth Melkor hardly looked any more composed. “My lord… my master…” he breathed out, rolling his hips back to meet Melkor’s thrusts every time, revelling in the heavy slap of his Vala’s sack against his soft rear end. “Please… Please, touch me… Oh, my needy, aching cock _begs_ for you, _Lord_ Melkor…”

There was a tiny little smirk on the lieutenant’s face, the expression of one who clearly knew the effects his words would have; and Melkor no longer had the restraint to tease or deny, a guttural growl escaping him, those deliciously submissive words going straight to his groin. Slipping a hand down Mairon’s lithe and sweat-slicked chest, he not at all gently grabbed his Maia’s length at the base, squeezing it hard before he began to stroke in time with the merciless pace of his hips. Relishing in Mairon’s ecstatic cries as his swollen and weeping cock was finally touched, the Dark Lord leered down and licked his lips. “You _adore_ this, don’t you,” he stated rather than asked, for he already knew the answer, his deep voice a rumble in his chest.

“A-Ah, yes…” Mairon panted, bright eyes shining with love and lust as he gazed half-lidded up into Melkor’s blood red ones. “I adore _you,_ my lord…”

“Mm…” Melkor could feel that familiar tightening in his core, that building need for release; but he wouldn’t, not a moment before his pretty servant had come undone for him. Such was their unspoken rule. “What a lovely sight you make. The mighty Sauron–” he gave the Maia’s tip a firm squeeze, earning a pleasured gasp, “–taking my cock like a well-practised whore…”

“F-Fuck, yes…!” How unusual it was to hear Mairon utter such language; if the plentiful leaking in Melkor’s palm and the delicious noises the Maia was making weren’t proof enough already, there was definitely no question that he wouldn’t last much longer. “M-My love… my Melkor…” he moaned out, and hearing his name spoken so lustfully drew a deep groan from the Dark Lord in return. “Ngh… W-Would you… May I…”

Pressing his forehead to Mairon’s own, his claws digging into the bedclothes hard enough to tear them to shreds in his palms, Melkor offered a pleased grin. “Say it,” he purred breathlessly, his own need so evident in his voice. “”Go on. _Say it.”_

The Maia’s length throbbed hard in his Vala’s hand, and his elegant fingers gripped tightly at his Dark Lord’s hair, eyes squeezing shut as he tried to compose himself enough to speak. “M-May I please… _please_ release for you, my lord, my Melkor–” His words were cut off by his own gasping moans, and his grasp on Melkor’s hair tightened further.

 _“Yes,”_ the Vala growled out, hips pumping fervently, pounding his Mairon without mercy as he chased their orgasms. “Let it out for me…! Show your lord how reverent you are!”

Those words, that permission; that was the only thing Mairon needed to hear, his head falling back as he allowed the very last of his restraint to slip away. Desperate moans reached a fever pitch as his body tensed, back arching and hips twitching as he spilled into Melkor’s hand in thick opalescent spurts, coating his Vala’s grey skin in near-scalding hot Maia seed.

And the sight, the sound, the feel of his partner’s release was all Melkor required in turn; deep groans giving way to a mighty cry of satisfaction as his head fell back, spilling dark locks down his back as his release gushed from his pulsing shaft, filling his Mairon up with his seed, his love, his gratitude for such eternally wonderful service.

Both Ainur panted as their orgasms passed over them, and both Ainur felt practically intoxicated on the warm and tingling haze of the afterglow. Mairon unwound one hand from Melkor’s hair to grasp his face, pulling him in close for a kiss which was gladly returned; and for a moment, they simply remained there, lips touching and breathing into each other as they allowed their physical forms to recover.

“Mm,” Mairon murmured, drawing back a little, bright eyes casting their widely-dilated pupils downwards. “Oh, I made quite a mess of your hand, didn’t I…? I do apologise,” he gave a little smile, his tone not sounding sorry whatsoever.

Shaking his head, Melkor quirked his eyebrows as he simply raised his sticky, seed-coated hand and forearm to his lips, allowing his tongue to slip out and lap up his lieutenant’s release. Red eyes fell closed for a moment, and he huffed a pleased sigh; it was no exaggeration to say that his Maia’s juices were his favourite taste in all Arda…

A slender hand soon grasped his own, and a second tongue joined him in lapping up the stickiness, the two slick muscles soon touching and sliding together as the two met in a loving kiss.

Laying Mairon down and resting his own body atop his partner’s, staying inside as he so often did, Melkor drew back and offered a lopsided smirk. “Is my little sadist pleased with his reward?” he asked in a slight slur, leaning down to lazily place kisses across Mairon’s shoulder.

“You ask that as though the answer isn’t obvious, my love…” Mairon chuckled softly, turning his pretty face to press a kiss to the top of Melkor’s head. “You do realise that you don’t have to reward me though, Melkor. I truly am more than happy just to serve you–”

“And that,” Melkor silenced Mairon with a finger placed to his lips, “is precisely why you are worth rewarding.” There was a pause, in which he chuckled despite himself. “…That and the fact that your arse is the finest in all Arda.”

Mairon snickered, cat-like eyes rolling. “And you have the indecency to call _me_ a whore…” he breathed an exaggerated sigh, giving a little laugh as he buried his face into his Vala’s hair. “I love you, my lord,” he murmured sweetly, hands sleepily caressing his partner’s back.

“I love you just the same, my precious lieutenant.” Melkor’s fingers played slowly with Mairon’s hair, and soon both of their eyes fell closed as they found the lull of sleep creeping upon them. “…Even if you _did_ get that prisoner’s blood on me while we were fucking.”

“Oh, hush; we can bathe in the morning…”

“I will hold you to that, my precious one.”


End file.
